


Steady Hands

by Areiton



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Denial, Grief/Mourning, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Friendship, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Protective Spock, Stubborn Leonard McCoy, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He's the best damn CMO in the 'fleet and Death? Can fuck right off.





	Steady Hands

 

The first time he saves Jim’s life is six weeks after they meet. Two times after he’s brought himself off, in the privacy of his shower, to the dirty promise in his wild eyes.

It took that long to come to the conclusion that James T. Kirk was permanent, the kind of stuck stain never getting out that his grandparents and Daddy were, the kind Joss was, the kind Jo is. He spreads out in Len’s life like it’s his, like he’s always belonged, like has a right to it and Len--grouchy bastard that he is--allows it.

That right there tells him all he needs to know and he gives in to the siren song of his pink fucking mouth and sky for miles eyes that night, fucks his hand until he spills, gasping, across his belly and when he sees Kirk thirty minutes later, refuses to think about that. Tucks it away in the box of  _ nope _ and slams the lid shut.

Because by six weeks, he’s also firmly placed Kirk in the ‘never happening’ column of his life.

The kid is so many kinds of fucked up and broken, Len can’t touch that. Not if he wants to take care of him. He learned his lesson with Joss, being with someone as damaged as he is. He  _ likes _ Kirk too much to ruin this with a quick fuck that means too much to him and not enough to the kid. 

So he puts it away and he takes Kirk out, fills him up with cheap beer and peanuts, with pizza from a local place that specializes in the kind of old Earth fare no one can actually resist.

And that’s when it goes wrong, when Jim swells up and starts hacking, while McCoy watches with something like horror before he snaps into action, jerking out of the first paralysis.

Of course Kirk makes everything difficult. He's allergic to fucking everything, including McCoy’s antihistamines, and it takes dragging him to Starfleet Medical and bullying his way into Jim’s room, taking control of his care until he was safe, stable, steady.

Jim laughed when he woke up and said McCoy was stuck with him and Len bitched and grumbled, but he knew it was true.

 

~

 

He waited, until the kid was sleeping and he was able to walk away, quiet and steady, retreating to a supply closet where he quietly lost his shit.

He gave himself exactly three minutes. Three minutes of shaking and trembling, fury and fear, and tears that he cursed even as he pushed them back.

And then he pulled himself together and went back to Jim’s side.

 

~

 

The thing is—he never expected  _ this. _

Jim got into trouble all the time, but Spock dragged him back, broken and bleeding and McCoy put him back together, bitching the entire time, unless it was really bad and then the whole MedBay got quiet, almost afraid to disturb him as he worked like hell to cheat death.

But he  _ did.  _ Every damn time. Kirk threw himself over the edge of reason and McCoy put him back together after Spock caught him. It’s the way of the universe, a fundamental truth that two years in space with them had ground into his psyche.

This. This is not what he expected.

This is not what they do.

His hands are shaking, and he can’t see through the tears, can’t hear anything but the fucking  _ silence _ of the MedBay, even the monitors are silent and that means something, he knows it does, but he can’t stop and—

“Leonard.”

He shakes off Chapel’s hand and keeps working, but nothing changes and now he can hear something now. Her sobs, soft and intrusive because he needs quiet, dammit.

“C’mon Jim,” he breathes. His hands are slippery with blood and shaking a little, something he hates. He takes a breath that tastes like ash and forces them steady. “C’mon, kid.”

“Leonard,” M’Benga says, touching his shoulder. “Stop, Leonard. He’s gone.”

He moves without thinking, punching the other man in the jaw and Chapel gives a startled little scream as M’Benga staggers back a step. His grip on Len’s arm doesn’t waver. Don’t ever shake.

How the  _ fuck _ is he so steady?

“He’s gone,” M’Benga says again, quiet. Steady. Solid.

And the ground drops out beneath him.

 

~

 

He staggers a little, getting away. He doesn’t know how he makes it or where he is. He doesn’t know where Spock is or if they’re all gonna die, and he almost wishes they would.

Spock should be here, and they can all die together, killed by the same madman.

It’s quiet again, broken only by muffled sobs, the entire medical staff gathered around his body, and Leonard lets them. It’s not the kid anymore, so why care?

He’s tired. So tired. His hands are steady, though, steady and bloody as he pushes his hair back, brushes tears away.

Where the hell is Spock? 

The tribble moves, lively and healthy and  _ breathing _ on his lab bench.

And the silence shatters.

 

~

 

The second time he saves Jim Kirk’s life, they’ve known each other for a year and a half, and the kid followed him home  for a week. 

He’s like a fucking stray dog that refuses to believe he is anything less than welcome, curling up in McCoy’s bed, with a satisfied little smile. 

The kid is a menace and McCoy doesn’t even try fighting it anymore. Puts up a half hearted, token protest when Jim announced his plan to go home with McCoy, before giving in with a grumble. 

The fall shouldn't have hurt him, wouldn't have if it were anyone but Kirk. But he's got shitty luck, and lands juuuuust right. The rocks breaks a rib, punctures a lung and ruptures his spleen and they're in the middle of the backwoods. 

He's terrified, his heart slamming in his chest as he falls to his knees next to Jim, ripping his medkit out and going to work. Jim’s eyes are watching him, wide and pained and somehow peaceful. Trusting. Like nothing and no one can hurt him when McCoy has his hands on Jim. 

Later, when Jim is sleeping, bandaged and scolded and quiet, a drowsy smile on his lips, McCoy wonders if that's true. If he can keep all harm from the kid.  

He sure as hell plans to try. 

 

~

 

Jim slept in his bed, and Len watched, drinking a bottle of whiskey that burned with hands that trembled and his stomach churned. He scrambled up, lurching to the bathroom where he was thoroughly, quietly sick. His eyes were burning and he was shaking, his whole body shuddering with the force of his silent sobs. He hung there, sobbing and heaving, until his stomach ached and his nose was running.

Then he gave himself exactly three minutes to fall apart, to soak in the fear and the panic and the bone crushing relief, a thousand what ifs and possibilities swirling around his head, before he sat up and wiped his face. Steadied his hands. 

And went back to Jim’s bedside. 

 

~

 

They keep telling him to sleep. To take a breather. To fucking eat. The last person to do that was Chekov and he feels bad about making a teenager cry, he does, but eating is the last fucking thing he wants right now. 

It's been three days. Since they fell to earth in a plunge that should have killed them, since Jim fixed the fucking warp core and killed himself in the process, since Spock went insane and beats Kahn into submission with only his bare hands. 

Three days since he realized he could maybe work a miracle. 

He hasn't stopped since he saw that damn tribble move. 

Spock joined him. Of course, Spock joined him. He's brilliant, all of that Vulcan logic and knowledge laid at McCoy’s feet like a tool. 

And he uses it. Drags Spock into the headlong search for a serum with him. He's a stubborn son of a bitch and he will beg, borrow and outright steal to cheat death when it comes for his crew. 

He's been snatching Jim back from that abyss for years. And now that the kid has actually fallen into it--it only makes sense that he'd storm in after him, Spock an avenging angel at his side, to drag the kid back out. 

He's the best goddamn CMO in the ‘fleet, and Death? Can go fuck itself.

 

~

 

They should wait. 

They should wait for another trial, to see how the tribble reacts, for the crew to get here, for  _ something.  _

Spock stares at him over the lab table, his face drawn and gray with exhaustion and McCoy wonders how he looks. If he is the same vision of death, with eyes burning in fury and determination. 

They should wait. 

But he doesn't. He marches over to Jim, and presses the hypo, gently, so much softer than he ever would when Jim was awake, to his neck, with hands that are rock steady. 

 

~

 

The first time the monitors beep, McCoy doesn't believe it. It's been almost two hours since he injected the serum, and his heart was beginning to sink, the belief that they couldn't do this taking root. 

“Doctor,” Spock says, his voice raspy and McCoy scrambles to check the monitors. To believe what it's telling him. 

Jim is alive. 

 

~

 

It takes two weeks. Pumping the bastard’s  blood and a tailor made serum that Jim wasn't allergic to, into the kid’s body, watching his vitals with a fervor that scared some of his staff, and Spock, silent and supportive and steady, smoothly running interference when the admiralty and press demanded Kirk or McCoy. 

It took the kind of luck that isn't real, and the refusal to give up that kept him in a marriage three years outta date. 

It took everything he had and a little bit he stole, for this moment. He watches, his gaze steady. 

Blue eyes flutter open, bright and bruised and beautiful and the kid smiles at him. 

 

~

 

Later, after Jim was sleeping, when Spock had finally relented to sit next to him and meditate, McCoy went down the hall. Slipped into an empty room and came apart. Shaking, his knees so weak they gave out and he hit the ground, gasping and trembling.

He gave himself three minutes. To feel every fear and worry he had ignored for two weeks.

To fall apart. To not be strong. And then he pulled it together. Wiped his face and straightened his uniform.  

Walked back down the hall to where Kirk and Spock are sleeping. 

When he took his place next to the kid’s bed, Spock peered at him, sleepy. McCoy brushed his bangs back and was startled when Spock leaned into the touch. He smiled as he took Jim’s hand and sat down. 

His hands, clutching the kid’s and resting on his leg, are steady. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say about this. Just a little look at balancing grief and the need to be strong for those around you.


End file.
